Humours of Irish Life Part 32

Mary came in to find her husband gazing in a bewildered fashion at his prostrate enemy, and took command in a way that excited his admiration.

"Here," said she, "give uz a hand to move her on to the seat. Jim, run home an' get Biddy to fill two or three jars wid boilin' wather, an'

bring thim along wid a blanket. She's as cowld as death. Joe, fly off wid yeh for the docther."

"What docther will I go for, ma'am?"

"The first ye can git," said Mary, promptly beginning to chafe the inanimate woman's hands and loosen her clothes.

When the doctor came he found Mrs. Macfarlane laid on an impromptu couch composed of two of the cushioned benches placed side by side. She was wrapped in blankets, had hot bottles to her feet and sides, and a mustard plaster over her heart.

"Bravo! Mrs. O'Brien," he said, "I couldn't have done better myself. I believe you have saved her life by being so quick--at least, saved it for the moment, for I think she is in for a severe illness. She will want careful nursing to pull her through."

"She looks rale bad," a.s.sented Mary.

"What are we to do with her?" said the doctor. "Is there no place where they would take her in?"

Mary glanced at Jim, but he did not speak.

"Sure, there's a room in our house," she ventured, after an awkward pause.

"The very thing," said the doctor, "if you don't mind the trouble, and if Mr. O'Brien does not object."

Jim made no answer, but walked out.

"He doesn't, docther," cried Mary. "Sure, he has the rale good heart.

I'll run off now, an' get the bed ready."

As they pa.s.sed Jim, who stood sulkily at the door, she contrived to squeeze his hand. "G.o.d bless yeh, me own Jim. You'll be none the worse forrit. 'Tis no time for bearin' malice, an' our Blessed Lady'll pray for yeh this day."

Jim was silent.

"'Tis a cruel shame she should fall on uz," he said, when his wife had disappeared; but he offered no further resistance.

Borne on an impromptu stretcher by Jim, Joe, Finnerty, and doctor, Mrs.

Macfarlane was carried to the stationmaster's house, undressed by Mary, and put to bed in the spotlessly clean, whitewashed upper room.

The cold and shivering had now pa.s.sed off, and she was burning. Nervous fever, the doctor antic.i.p.ated. She raved about her dog, about Jim, about the pa.s.sengers, her rent, and fifty other things that made it evident her circ.u.mstances had preyed upon her mind.

Poor Mary was afraid of her at times; but there are no trained nurses at Toomevara, and, guided by Doctor Doherty's directions, she tried to do her best, and managed wonderfully well.

There could be no doubt Jim did not like having the invalid in the house. But this did not prevent him from feeling very miserable. He became desperately anxious that Mrs. Macfarlane should not die, and astonished Mary by bringing home various jellies and meat extracts, that he fancied might be good for the patient; but he did this with a shy and hang-dog air by no means natural to him, and always made some ungracious speech as to the trouble, to prevent Mary thinking he was sorry for the part he had played. He replied with a downcast expression to all enquiries from outsiders as to Mrs. Macfarlane's health, but he brought her dog into the house and fed it well.

"Not for her sake, G.o.d knows," he explained; "but bekase the poor baste was frettin' an' I cudn't see him there wid no wan to look to him."

He refused, however, to style the animal "King William," and called it "Billy" instead, a name which it soon learned to answer.

One evening, when the whitewashed room was all aglow with crimson light that flooded through the western window, Mrs. Macfarlane returned to consciousness. Mary was sitting by the bedside, sewing, having sent out the children in charge of Kitty to secure quiet in the house. For a long time, un.o.bserved by her nurse, the sick woman lay feebly trying to understand. Suddenly she spoke--

"What is the matter?"

Mary jumped.

"To be sure," she said, laying down her needlework, "'tis very bad you were intirely, ma'am; but, thanks be to G.o.d, you're betther now."

"Where am I?" asked Mrs. Macfarlane, after a considerable pause.

"In the station house, ma'am. Sure, don't ye know me? I'm Mary O'Brien."

"Mary O'Brien--O'Brien?"

"Yis, faith! Jim O'Brien's wife."

"An' this is Jim O'Brien's house?"

"Whose else id it be? But there now, don't talk anny more. Sure, we'll tell, ye all about it whin y're betther. The docthor sez y're to be kep'

quiet."

"But who brought me here?"

"Troth, 'twas carried in ye were, an' you near dyin'. Hush up now, will ye? Take a dhrop o' this, an' thry to go to shleep."

When Jim came into his supper his wife said to him, "That craythure upstairs is mad to get away. She thinks we begrudge her the bit she ates."

Jim was silent. Then he said, "Sure, annythin' that's bad she'll b'leeve ov uz."

"But ye've nivir been up to see her. Shlip into the room now, an' ax her how she's goin' on. Let bygones be bygones, in the name of G.o.d."

"I won't," said Jim.

"Oh, yes, ye will. Sure, afther all, though ye didn't mane it, ye're the cause ov it. Go to her now."

"I don't like."

"Ah, go. 'Tis yer place, an' you sinsibler than she is. Go an' tell her to shtay till she's well. Faith, I think that undher all that way of hers she's softher than she looks. I tell ye, Jim, I seen her cryin'

over the dog, bekase she thought 'twas th' only thing that loved her."

Half pushed by Mary, Jim made his way up the steep stair, and knocked at the door of Mrs. Macfarlane's attic.

"Come in," said a feeble voice, and he stumbled into the room.

When Mrs. Macfarlane saw who it was, a flame lit in her hollow eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, with grim politeness, "that yu find me here, Misther O'Brien; but it isn't my fault. I wanted tu go a while ago, an'

your wife wouldn't let me."

"An' very right she was; you're not fit for it. Sure, don't be talkin'

ov goin' till ye're better, ma'am," said Jim, awkwardly. "Y're heartily welcome for me. I come up to say--to say, I hope y'll be in no hurry to move."